


take a leaf out of my book, turn it round and have a look

by emilybrontay



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Babies, F/M, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilybrontay/pseuds/emilybrontay
Summary: There exists, somewhere, universes where Wolfgang and Kala aren't sensates, and have kids, but not with each other.Title is from If You Don't Want Me To Destroy You by Super Furry Animals





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> many many moons ago (not that many moons ago) (like last year, or the year before), i wrote 11 chapters of brooklyn nine nine fic based on the prompts of this post - http://emilybrontay.tumblr.com/post/128634831927/how-about-them-single-parentaus - and it was SO MUCH FUN, and then recently i was like. wait, that, but with wolfgang and kala.  
> so the set up is that they're not sensates, and all the prompts exist in different universes but the kids names'll stay the same. this is for hannah (everything i do, i do it for you.mp3), and really, for everyone, after netflix's garbage announcement this evening.  
> PS. there's a 'say anything....' reference in here somewhere. actually, that would movie would make quite a good wolfgangkala au - "What I really want to do with my life - what I want to do for a living - is I want to be with your daughter. I'm good at it."

* * *

**WOLFGANG AND SOPHIE**

**"** **we’ve been on a few dates and my child just asked us when we are getting married"**

* * *

 None of it would ever have happened had Felix not asked him to go to karaoke.

“C’mon, man,” he said, and Wolfgang pointedly ignored him, and continued cleaning the vice. “When was the last time we went out? What happened to the _brotherhood_ , Wolfie?”

Wolfgang said nothing.

“It’s one night,” Felix insisted, “It’ll be fun, there'll be _drinking_ and _dancing_ and _damsels_ -”

Because chasing after damsels had turned out _so well_ for Wolfgang in the past.

“I can’t,” he said flatly, “Who’d watch Sophie?”

Felix shrugged. “I dunno - your aunt?”

“No.”

“Isn't there some old lady in your building who could look after her?”

There probably was. But Sophie didn't like strangers, and neither did Wolfgang. And more than that, he knew the kind of people who lived in his building - an interfering, gossipy old woman nosing around their apartment sounded like a nightmare.

“Or,” Felix said slowly, “she could always watch herself?”

Wolfgang dropped his cloth and - finally - looked at Felix.

“She's _six,_ ” he said.

“Didn't we look after ourselves at that age?”

When Wolfgang was six his mother had still been around, and they had looked after each other. Sophie, on the other hand, only had him. If he fell short, there wasn't anyone else to pick up the slack. It was terrifying.

“There’s karaoke,” Felix pressed, and Wolfgang shook his head.

“You go.”

“Not without you, man.”

 

* * *

 

 

Felix came over for dinner without asking, which happened so often it felt almost like tradition. It would've been wrong if Felix _had_ asked, or if Wolfgang invited him.

“Tell your dad,” Felix said through mouthfuls of pasta, “to come out on Saturday night.”

Sophie blinked twice and said nothing.

“You won't even know he's gone,” Felix continued, “he'll put you to bed and he'll be back by the time you wake up, and a nice old lady who lives upstairs will -”

“Felix,” Wolfgang said sharply, “shut up, man.”

Sophie blinked again, blue eyes wide, and took a long sip of juice.

“She doesn't mind,” Felix insisted. Wolfgang shook his head.

“Yeah, but I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

Later, after Felix had gone home - even though he spent so much time in Wolfgang’s apartment, it pretty much _was_ his home - Sophie, duvet drawn to her chin, asked him if he wanted to go to the karaoke bar.

“Not really,” Wolfgang told her, which wasn't strictly true. Felix was right - he couldn't remember the last time he’d gone _out._ But the fact was, going out meant leaving Sophie with a stranger, and he couldn’t do that. He barely trusted himself to look after her, let alone some old biddy who could remember the Weimar Republic.

“You like karaoke,” Sophie said, “you did it at my birthday party.”

He had, that was true. And he’d slept with one of the mothers of her friends, a woman named Anja who he avoided at the school gates now. But Sophie didn't know that.

“I think you should go,” she said solemnly.

“You do?”

“Mhmm. I've been thinking about it and it doesn't really seem fair that _I_ go to parties all the time without _you,_ like last week when I went to Elizabeth’s birthday party and you were at work, and _you_ never get to go out without _me._ ”

He laughed.

“In that case, I’ll go.”

Sophie watched him with her large serious eyes, like she was trying to figure out whether he was being sincere.

“I’ll go,” he said again, and she smiled, just for a second.

 

* * *

 

 

Mrs Weiss from upstairs took little convincing to watch Sophie for four hours on a Saturday night.

“Of _course_ I’ll keep an eye on her,” she said when Wolfgang asked her in the lobby on the Friday afternoon, “she's such a _sweet girl,_ and so _strong_ , especially after everything that happened with her mother.”

If Mrs Weiss thought she was going to get any information about what happened to Sophie’s mother from Wolfgang, she was sorely mistaken.

“She won't be any trouble,” he said, and Mrs Weiss laughed.

“Of course not! We’ll have a marvellous time.”

 

* * *

 

 

The club was heaving, there were so many people he could hardly see - Felix kept giving him shots, and it almost, _almost_ felt like it did before, save for the constant hum of worry in his chest. Sophie had lived with him for two years and he hadn't left her once.

“Relax, bro,” Felix said, “Have another drink, let's find some chicks to dance with, it's fine! You need to loosen up!"

He did three shots of vodka, one after the other, and then he saw her.

She was probably the most beautiful woman Wolfgang had ever seen. She was about to take to the karaoke stage, and she was laughing. She brushed her hair out of her face, and Wolfgang wondered what it would be like to touch her hair. To make her laugh. Something in him, a part of himself he’d silenced even before Sophie came to live with him, wanted and wondered and - _yearned._

One of the girls she was with grabbed the microphone from her hand and shouted “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WITH WHAT’S UP BY 4 NON BLONDES, MISS KALA DANDEKAR!”

Felix grabbed his arm. “Oh shit, dude,” he said, “that girl’s doing your song!”

Wolfgang shrugged. “I don't mind.”

Felix watched him watch Kala for a moment, and then a look of dawning realisation crossed his face.

“Oh  _shit,_ ” he crowed, “Didn't I _tell you_ tonight would be worth it? Didn't I?”

As Kala sung with joyous abandon, throwing her arms out and closing her eyes, Wolfgang had to admit that Felix was right.

 

* * *

 

 

He lost sight of her initially after she left the stage, and declined Felix’s offer of duetting to Springsteen’s _Born to Run._

“That's shit,” he said, although at this point in the night his words were slightly slurred, “We do _99 Red Balloons_ or we don't do anything.”

“I don't wanna do _99 Red Balloons ,"_  Felix complained, “I wanna do Bruce!”

“Go on,” Wolfgang laughed, “Go and find a girl to do Bruce with.”

Felix grinned. “I love you, man.”

He stumbled from his stool, and Wolfgang laughed again ( _when was the last time he’d laughed this much?_ ). He turned round to face the bar and - oh. There she was.

Kala was stood right next to him - she smelt of jasmine. Her elbow was on the bar and she was resting in her chin in her hand, and with her other hand, she tapped her purse on the countertop restlessly, like she was waiting for something.

He wasn't really sure what to say.

“You stole my song.”

“Sorry?”

He laughed. “You did _What's Up_ . I normally do _What's Up._ ”

She nodded slowly. “Do you? Because my sister and I have been coming to this night for quite a few weeks now and I've never seen you before.”

Recently, of course, he’d only been singing _What’s Up_ to Sophie whilst she brushed her teeth, but it was a little early to tell Kala this.

“I've been busy.”

She nodded again. “What song will you do instead?”

“I won't.”

 _99 Red Balloons_ was a joint effort, and Felix, the bastard, had chosen Springsteen over him.

She narrowed her eyes at him, which made him laugh again.

“You'll come to a karaoke night and _not_ do any karaoke? What a waste!”

“It's not a waste,” he said, before he could stop himself.

“Why not?”

Well. He may as well be honest now. “Because I met you.”

She blushed slightly. “You don't even know me.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I’d like to.”

“Does that line always work?”

“It wasn't a line!”

“It sounded like a line,” she said firmly. The waiter brought her drink over - it was pink and looked like it had too much sugar in it. She sipped it, and looked at him thoughtfully.

“You’re really not going to sing tonight?” she asked. He laughed.

“That really bothers you, huh?”

She nodded. “Yes, what's the point of a karaoke night if no one sings?”

“People are singing,” he pointed out, “just not me.”

She took another sip of her drink.

“Are you embarrassed? Is that it? Because -”

“No, I don't get embarrassed.” This was true. Kala wrinkled her nose.

“Then what is it?”

He shrugged.

“I already told you. You did my song.”

 

* * *

 

 

He didn't sing that night, although Felix did - he did _Born to Run_ with a red headed girl he wound up going home with.

Wolfgang watched the taxi containing the two of them disappear into the night.

He glanced over to Kala, who for some reason had stuck with him the whole evening. She seemed genuinely interested in what he said, and he had found himself hanging on her every word. She was from Bombay, originally, and she and her sister Daya had come to Berlin to work for a pharmaceutical company. He suspected, from the controlled casualness of her tone, there was something a little more to it than that, but he didn't want to push it. The last person he’d actually, properly, been able to talk to was - well, it had been a while, was all.

He looked at his watch. It was two in the morning, which was a whole two hours later than he told Mrs Weiss he’d be home.

“So.” Kala said. Wolfgang nodded.

“So.”

“Here we are.”

“Here we are.”

She laughed. “Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

He shook his head, and she took his hand. The warmth of her, in the cold night, made him shiver.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

_Ah._

“Not far,” he said. He couldn't take her home with him, as much as he wanted to. It wasn't the thought of Mrs Weiss that frightened him - she and her old lady friends could say whatever the hell they wanted about him at their bridge club - but _Sophie._

He didn't want to kick Kala out of his bed and he also didn't want to introduce Sophie to someone who was just going to leave again, in a few weeks or a few months or whenever it was that Kala realised that she could do far better than him. The poor kid had had enough to deal with in her life already.

“We can't….” he began, and Kala’s face fell.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head vehemently.

“No, it's - it's not you.”

Kala did not let go of his hand. “Tell me,” she said, very quietly.

The words felt too heavy on his tongue, and so he pulled out his phone - the lock screen was of him and Sophie last summer, eating ice cream in the park. They were both squinting in the sunlight. The family resemblance was, more in this image than any other that had been taken of the two of them together, startlingly clear.

“Oh,” said Kala.

“Her name’s Sophie,” he said shortly, and shoved his phone back into his pocket, “and she's six.”

He looked up at the moon, and waited for her grip on his hand to loosen, for her to say _it was nice to meet you but -_  and get into a taxi. But nothing happened.

“I see,” she said after a while, “I see. I guess - in that case then, I’ll just walk you home.”

He snorted. “You'll walk _me?_ Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?”

She shrugged. “I'm a modern woman. I’ll call Daya and she’ll get the taxi to come and pick me up when she goes home.”

Daya was still inside the club, having bumped into some girls she and Kala worked with. Last time Wolfgang had seen her, she was singing Taylor Swift songs whilst stood on a table.

“So,” Kala said, and he realised she was smiling, “which way is it?”

 

* * *

 

 

Mrs Weiss was asleep on the sofa, knitting in her hands and an old movie on the TV. Her mouth was open and she was snoring.

Wolfgang and Kala watched her for a moment, hovering in the doorway, before they both began to giggle. Mrs Weiss snorted. Kala shoved her fist in her mouth to stop herself from cackling with laughter and they shushed each other, like they were kids preparing to play a prank.

With as much gentleness as he could muster, Wolfgang shook Mrs Weiss awake. She spluttered as she woke.

Wolfgang forced himself not to look at Kala because he knew if he did, they would both burst out laughing.

“Mrs Weiss,” he whispered as not to wake Sophie, “Thank you for your time.”

He dug out his wallet, and Mrs Weiss shook her head.

“Don't be _ridiculous_ , young man,” she said, and Wolfgang winced at the volume of her voice, “It was the _least_ I could do for that poor motherless child.”

She patted his hand in a _there, there_ sort of way, despite the fact he hadn't shown any reaction to her declaration of his daughter’s motherlessness.

It was only when she stood that Mrs Weiss noticed Kala.

“ _Oh,"_  she said, “hello.”

“Hullo,” Kala said, and waved, a little awkwardly, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands.

“Kala, Mrs Weiss. Mrs Weiss, Kala.”

Mrs Weiss looked from Wolfgang, to Kala and then back again.

“I see,” she sniffed, and Kala began to giggle again, “I’ll leave you to it then. Good night, Mr Bogdanow.”

She shuffled out of the apartment in the way that old ladies do, heavy footed and breathing deeply. Kala’s eyes were filling with tears from trying so hard not to laugh, and the moment the front door slammed shut it burst from the both of them, giggles and hiccups of mirth.

“Mr Bogdanow,” Kala snorted, and that made Wolfgang laugh harder.

“Sophie is asleep,” he reminded her as they both giggled, Kala clinging to his arm like the weight of her laughter was too much to bear. She nodded, and stood up straight. She pressed her lips together tightly, smothering the laugh, and Wolfgang thought there was nothing he’d like more in the world than to kiss her.

“Yes,” Kala whispered, “Sophie is asleep.”

They were inches away from each other now, he could feel her breath on his cheeks.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” she murmured, “because I feel like if I do, I won't be able to stop.”

She stepped back, and Wolfgang inhaled sharply. He felt - he felt _dizzy_ , from being so close to her. He hadn't felt like that since he was a _teenager._  Why was it so easy for him to fall into bed with the single mothers whose children went to the same school as his daughter, and so difficult for him to merely stand next to Kala?

“When can I see you again?” he asked, like it was a damn _romance novel._ Kala smiled as she rummaged in her handbag for her phone.

“Call me tomorrow.”

“Today is tomorrow.”

She looked up, beamed at him. “Well then call me later.”

He nodded.

She pressed the phone to her ear, and then nodded towards the TV, which was still on the old movie Mrs Weiss had been watching.

“ _It Happened One Night,_ ” she said, “I love that movie - hi Daya, are you in a taxi?”

The moment, so fragile between them, was gone. He let her out of the front door, and watched her clamber into the cab her sister had sent for her. And after she’d gone, for what felt like an incredibly long time, he stood in the doorway of his home.

 _It happened one night._ Sounded about right.

 

* * *

 

 

He and Sophie ate breakfast in silence, which used to frighten him but was now a comfort. Neither of them felt like being people much before eleven, and a hangover loomed over him, making his temples throb and his stomach ache.

Felix called around noon, eager to relay the details of his night with the red headed girl.

“And what about you, man?” Felix asked, “You and that chick - what was her name?”

“Kala,” Wolfgang mumbled. Felix whooped.

“Yes! Kala! What happened with that, did you-?”

“Nothing.”

Sophie was sat cross legged in front of the television, but her eyes were on her father. On the other end of the phone, Felix swore.

“ _Nothing?_ Really? You’re losing your touch, Wolfie!”

He remembered the way Kala had looked when she’d whispered she wasn't going to kiss him. The tenderness of it all. He didn't feel like he’d lost anything.

“I’m calling her later.”

“Oh yeah? Calling is not the same as getting laid, my friend.”

Wolfgang laughed. “I’ll speak to you later.”

“I told you it’d be a night to remember, didn't I? I’m never wrong, Wolfie!”

 

* * *

 

 

The phone rang three times before Kala picked it up. Before she said hello, she hissed something in Hindi at her sister.

“I was beginning to think you weren't going to call,” she said.

There was a laugh in her voice. Of course he called. He was always going to.

“I was busy with the kid.”

“Ah, yes,” Kala laughed, “how is she?”

Sophie was, at that moment, lying on her stomach across the rug, and intently colouring in a Disney princess colouring book Wolfgang’s aunt got her for her fifth birthday. When she heard him say _the kid,_ she looked up. To everyone else, her eyes were unreadable, but her eyes were Wolfgang’s eyes, and so he knew: she was curious, and a little frightened, but mostly she loved him and knew that whatever came out of his mouth next wouldn't be _I fucking hate that kid_ , or whatever bullshit she had to hear before she lived with him.

“She's okay,” he told Kala. Sophie smiled.

“Do you two have plans today?” Kala asked. The tremble in her voice betrayed her tone of casualness.

“No. Do you?”

“No, Daya’s getting a late lunch with some friends, and I - it's a beautiful day, do you wanna get a coffee and go to a park or something?”

Sophie still hadn't returned to her colouring book. She shuffled up into a sitting position. Wolfgang didn't know about the weather - he never left the house with a hangover, and Sophie was always perfectly happy with TV and colouring on a Sunday. But he could see it, in the part of his brain that yearned, the three of them wandering around, hand in hand - Kala pushing Sophie on the swings.

“The three of us?” he asked Kala.

“I mean, only if it's okay with you,” she said quickly, “I know - I know you've both been through a lot and we barely know each other but - but I feel very strongly about you, Wolfgang, and somehow, somehow I know you feel the same.”

“Hold on,” he rested the phone against his shoulder, “Sophie - do you want to go to the park?”

She scrunched up her face for a second, like she was thinking (it was one of the only things she did that reminded him of her mother) and then nodded, sharply.

He pressed the phone to his ear again.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was warm enough that you didn't need a coat - which Wolfgang was grateful for because Sophie hated putting a coat on, and he hated trying to make her wear one - but cool enough that it wasn't uncomfortable.

They sat on a park bench, the two adults clutching cups of coffee and Sophie earnestly sipping an apple juice. She hadn't said a word since Kala had arrived. Wolfgang had spoken for her, answering Kala’s questions about school and her friends and which princesses she’d been colouring in. If he’d made an important point - that her favourite thing to do at school was paint, and her best friend’s name was Amy and that she didn't have a favourite princess, but she liked Merida because Merida had hair like Sophie’s mother - she’d nod forcefully.

“So do you like movies, Sophie?” Kala asked, and sipped her coffee. Sophie nodded.

“I _love_ movies. Do you like movies with dancing in them?”

Sophie scrunched up her nose, and then shook her head.

“No? Well what's your _favourite_ movie?”

Wolfgang fully expected Sophie to look at him, to ask him - with her eyes, the mirror of his own - to answer the question for her. But she didn't.

“ _Conan,"_ she grinned.

Kala laughed. “ _Conan?_ The barbarian?”

She looked at Wolfgang and raised her eyebrows. _Seriously dude?_

“All that matters is that two stood against many,” he quoted, and shrugged. “It's Felix’s favourite movie.”

“It’s Dad’s favourite too,” Sophie said, “what's _your_ favourite movie, Kala?”

“Oh goodness,” Kala sighed dreamily, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “well, I love any movie that's got any kind of dancing in it - _Singing in the Rain_ , have you seen _Singing in the Rain_?”

Sophie shook her head.

“Oh my, we’ll have to watch _Singing in the Rain_ ! Oh, and _Pakeezah,_ that's one of my favourites too, and - well, it's too hard to just choose one.”

Sophie’s scrunched up nose smoothed out, and she tilted her head slightly like she was seriously considering Kala for the first time.

“You ever seen _Conan?"_ she asked.

Kala shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I haven't.”

“We’ll watch _Pakeezah_ with you if you watch _Conan_ with us,” Sophie said, “It’s only fair.”

Kala smiled, and turned to look at Wolfgang. _Is that alright_ , her eyes seemed to say. He nodded. It was more than alright.

Sophie looked from Kala, to her father, and then back again. She smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

On the Tuesday after the karaoke night, Felix got called out to fix an old lady’s front door because her key broke in the lock, and so Wolfgang took Sophie straight from school to the shop, to man it until the end of the day. He brought her an ice cream as a consolation.

They had so few customers that day that he had taken it upon himself to clean every tool they owned, and Sophie sat on the table while he worked, swinging her legs and eating her ice cream and pointing out when he’d missed a spot.

“Did you speak to Kala today?” she asked.

He nodded.

“When is she going to watch _Conan_ with us?”

Wolfgang shrugged.

“When is she going to come to our house for dinner?”

He shrugged again. “You’re full of questions today, aren't you?”

Sophie nodded, her face covered in chocolate and her eyes twinkling with what Wolfgang thought looked like happiness.

“My teacher says I’m inquisitive. What does that mean?”

“It means you’re nosey - pass me that cloth, please.”

She did so.

“I like knowing things,” she said.

He nodded. “It's good to know things.”

“Yeah. Like, do you know when you're going to marry Kala?”

He almost laughed, but her face was deadly serious.

“When am _I_ going to _marry Kala_?”

Sophie nodded. “Mhmm. I think you should.”

Well. That settled it then, didn't it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya girl (me) finished her last university exam of the year yesterday which is great because now i can literally just eat brie and write fanfiction all summer (the dream) (also i won't JUST be doing that. i've got a nannying job) ANYWAY. this was super fun to write and feels quite in-universe although the timeline is all messed up. content warnings for wolfgang's Terrible Awful No Good Very Sad past. also i can't remember whether his aunt had a name or not, so i made it up. i also made up Wolfgang's Cousin Paulina, who i then named after my oma. also, fun fact, the song kala sings in this is sung by asha bhosle, which is my sister's name. also: kala's baby is named after her mum, which i thought seemed like a kala thing to do, and she's not really in it very much because she's only little.

**KALA AND PRIYA**

* * *

**"you asked me to the store with you and your child, and now my distant relative we met thinks im married with a baby"**

* * *

 

When he looked back on it, Wolfgang couldn't remember who introduced them to each other. It might've been Lito - he and Kala went to the movies together once a week, so it could very probably have been him who dragged Wolfgang into the kitchen during a dinner party, saying “There’s someone you _have_ to meet!”

Equally, it could have been Riley, whose house was the best place to finish a night out because she always played sweet sounding, obscure Icelandic indie songs, and had a seemingly unending supply of cigarettes. It wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine that when Wolfgang nearly walked straight into a pretty, pregnant Indian girl on his way to the bathroom in Riley’s flat, that that was the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

When he asked Kala about it later, she chewed her lip in thoughtfulness, before concluding that it was Nomi, at brunch, and it was a complete coincidence because he was there for work, whilst she was there with Nomi and Amanita because she’d been hiding in her house since her divorce came through, and then they’d practically dragged her to the restaurant, and then when Wolfgang walked in Amanita had nearly _screamed_ , and Nomi had turned to Kala and said: “Your post Rajan life starts right now.”

 

* * *

 

When Priya - the baby Kala was pregnant with when Wolfgang nearly collided with her at the top of Riley’s stairs one Saturday night - was six months old, Wolfgang broke up with Hedy, who he hadn't been seeing for very long and who he hadn't really liked very much.

Kala was devastated.

“Wolfgang, _why?”_ she groaned when he told her. She sat at his kitchen table feeding Priya whilst he did the washing up. She tutted. “You meet a beautiful, perfectly nice and normal girl who likes the same _terrible_ music as you, and you just throw it away? _Why?"_ ”

He shrugged. “We just didn't click.”

Kala rolled her eyes. “That's a terrible excuse.”

“No it's not - why did you divorce Rajan?”

She laughed sarcastically. “Oh ha ha ha - that's not the same and you know it.”

He shrugged again, and went back to trying to get the grease stains out of his frying pan.

He could hear Kala humming behind him, the soft sigh of Priya as she finished with her bottle - it was nice, the sort of almost silence that didn't make his skin itch.

“Wolfgang,” Kala whispered, and he turned round. Priya was nestled on her shoulder, sound asleep.

“Can I put her down in your room?” she asked, “I’m trying to make sure she doesn't get used to sleeping in the pushchair, or she’ll fall asleep every time we leave the house.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

She stood up slowly, cradling Priya’s head, and crossed the room so gently he didn't hear her. As she crept into his bedroom with her tiny daughter in her arms, he finished the washing up. The baby stirred a little - Wolfgang assumed that was when Kala put her down - but after a few moments of Kala singing in Hindi, the beginnings of a wail stopped.

Kala closed his bedroom door behind her and sighed.

“Thank goodness - I thought she’d never go off.”

“What was that song?” he asked her.

“What song?”

She picked up a dish cloth and began to dry the plates he’d stacked on the draining board. He wasn't quite sure when she’d started doing this - perhaps it was around the time she’d rung him after locking herself out of her flat, and he’d gone over to let her in and wound up fixing her washing machine, the flickering light in Priya’s nursery and the back door that kept getting stuck. He liked helping her, which wasn't a feeling he got often. It didn't feel like helping at all, it felt like - like it was the most normal thing in the world, to be up to his elbows in soap suds whilst she fed her baby, or stood on a chair in her baby’s bedroom whilst she passionately told him about a documentary she’d seen on developments in DNA analysis.

“The song you were just singing.”

“Oh,” she laughed a little, like she was embarrassed, “it's just a song from a movie I watched a lot as a child.  _Rangeela Re_.”

A hazy, half-forgotten memory of his own mother floated to the front of Wolfgang’s mind. On the afternoons his father was out - drinking somewhere, fighting someone - and his mother took it upon herself to clean the flat from top to bottom, she’d pretend she was a jukebox, and he’d sit on the kitchen table and request songs for her to sing as she mopped the floor. His favourites were always whatever was on the radio at the time, but her’s were songs from movies. She had a whole dance routine for _You’re the One That I Want._ Once, an old girlfriend - not Hedy, long before Hedy - had put _Grease_ on the TV, and he’d gone into the bathroom to be sick.

“We should watch it,” he said, handing her a pan to dry. She laughed again.

“Sure,” she said, “Why not? I don't know whether you'll like it, but -”

“Why wouldn't I like it?”

“It's a romantic comedy, and your favourite movie is _Conan the Barbarian_.”

He paused to put a plate away. “Conan’s a romantic comedy.”

Kala laughed, loudly, and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Priya is _asleep_ ,” she said, more to herself than to Wolfgang.

She picked a mug up from the sideboard, and began to rummage around in the corner cupboard where he usually kept tea (for her, and for Sun when she came over) and coffee (for himself, for Felix and for Nomi and Amanita).

“Wolfgang,” she said, and she sounded confused, “why is this cupboard - why is this cupboard completely bare? You have no tea! Or coffee!”

He shrugged. “I've been busy.”

She closed the cupboard and turned to him, mug still in hand. “Too busy for _tea_?”

“Too busy for a lot of things.”

She watched him for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes.

“Is your refrigerator empty?”

He shrugged, even though he knew it was.

“I’d been at Hedy’s for weeks and then I was at Felix’s. I just haven't been home in a while. You don't need to mum out about it.”

She scoffed. “I’m not _mum-ing_ out!”

He raised his eyebrows. _If you say so._

“You are an adult,” she said, “you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. As your _friend_ , however, I insist we go to the supermarket and replenish your cupboards as soon as Priya wakes up. I won't watch _Rangeela_ with you without a cup of tea. And _food_ , Wolfgang, my goodness, what have you been doing for _food_?”

He shrugged again.

 

* * *

 

Priya slept for an hour, during which time Kala had read the newspaper in its entirety aloud to Wolfgang, recommended him fourteen Bollywood movies she thought he’d like, and the two of them, together, wrote a shopping list that was as long as Priya herself.

 

* * *

 

Kala wasted no time when they arrived at the supermarket. She grabbed the largest trolley she could find, gently placed Priya in the baby seat, and made a beeline for the bakery section. Wolfgang followed a little way behind her, making faces at the baby to make her laugh.

“What kind of bread do you get?” Kala asked, shopping list in hand.

“I don't know. White, I guess. What's the cheapest?”

Kala raised her eyebrows. “You should start eating brown bread, it's better for you.”

“I like white bread,” he told her, and as she moved away from the trolley toward the shelves, he stepped in behind her, still pulling faces at Priya.

“Well just try this bread,” Kala put two loaves in the trolley, “Can you push the trolley? I just saw there is an offer on tea.”

“How exciting,” Wolfgang deadpanned, and followed her at a considerably slower pace than Kala had set off at.

Priya watched him curiously with her large brown eyes - Kala’s eyes.

“I know, I know,” he said to her, “she only fusses like this because she cares.”

He passed a middle aged woman with copper coloured hair, who was choosing between two different brands of coffee. He thought, for a second, for one horrifying and stomach churning second, that it was his aunt, who he hadn't seen since his uncle died ( _since he shot his uncle, the day Priya was born_ ) but it couldn't be. His aunt had never been to a supermarket in her _life_ , surely, she sent maids out to do that sort of thing, what was the point of being obscenely rich from blood money if -

The woman turned around.

_“Wolfgang?”_

He set his jaw. He had an urge to pick Priya up, to hide her from this, from his family. To protect her, somehow.

“Aunt,” he said, as civilly as he could.

He watched as her eyes travelled from him to Priya, who was merrily chewing on her own fist, and then back to Wolfgang again.

“I haven't seen you in so long,” his aunt said slowly, “not since the funeral.”

He didn't say anything. She kept glancing over at Priya, and he couldn't bear it.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Like you give a shit,” he spat before he could help himself. His aunt tutted.

“That _language_ , Wolfgang. In front of the baby too.”

He opened his mouth to say something - something about Steiner, something about the empire crumbling - but before he could Kala walked right over to him, oblivious to the presence of his aunt, four boxes of tea in her arms.

“Could you help me with these?” she asked, and without thinking he did.

“I've got chamomile,” she said as he relieved of the boxes that she’d nearly dropped, “which I think you should drink actually, it's very relaxing - and the green tea is for Sun, are you-?”

Wolfgang’s aunt cleared her throat. A look of surprise passed over Kala’s face, but she shook it off and stretched out her hand.

“Goodness, you must think me so rude - I’m Kala, I’m -”

“Ursula Bogdanow,” Wolfgang’s aunt interrupted, “Wolfgang’s aunt. I don't expect he told you about me, even though I practically raised him.”

She shot an ice cold glare at Wolfgang when she said that, and he shivered. It was infuriating - Kala and Priya were _good_ , good things about his life, and he didn't want that _side_ of him having anything to do with them.

“You know,” his aunt said to him, placing the coffee brand she didn't want back on the shelf, “your cousin Paulina did tell me she heard you were seeing someone, but I never expected - you didn't say at the funeral.”

There was an awful, awkward silence.  

“It's good to see you looking so well,” his aunt said finally, “Let's hope nothing spoils it, hm? You’re such a sweet family.”

Kala opened her mouth, presumably to correct her, to say _no, no, it's not like that, we’re just friends_ but Wolfgang placed his hand, very gently, on her arm and she said nothing.

“Nothing will,” he said, voice low, “I won't let it.”

His aunt narrowed her eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” he said, “it's a promise.”

His aunt did not reply.

“Goodbye, Aunt,” he said firmly, and pushed the trolley away. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

 

* * *

 

Kala, half running, caught up with him by the delicatessen.

“What was that?” she demanded.

“My aunt,” he said, “Cold meats are on the list, right?”

“Yes, they are but - but _Wolfgang_ , what just _happened_? Why did you let your aunt think we’re a family? Why was she - was she threatening you? Because I felt threatened.”

He glanced over at Priya, who was cheerily attempting to shove her own foot in her mouth.

“She's alone now,” he said finally, “she can't do anything.”

“I see,” Kala said slowly, “you know….I have been so lost, since the divorce and since Priya, and you - I couldn't have done any of this without you.”

The day after Priya was born, he had turned up at Kala’s flat, the flat Rajan had brought her as a wedding gift, with shaking hands and a stuffed tiger he’d brought from the zoo. And Kala had sat there on her sofa with her newborn baby in her arms and said; _you have something good and beautiful hidden inside of you, just as I have something dark and wicked inside of me. You are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you._

“That's why,” he said, casually throwing a packet of ham into the trolley, and trying not to think about the magnitude of what he was about to say, “that's why I let her.”

He wanted to say _you are my family_ but the words were so heavy, so important, that he couldn’t do it. He just looked at her, and hoped she understood.

“ _Wolfgang_ ,” Kala said, with so much tenderness it was almost unbearable.

He didn't know how to respond to that, and so he didn't. They finished their shopping in near silence, only speaking to Priya, and to ask the other what was left on the list, or whether a mutual friend of theirs liked a certain food.

As they neared the check out, Wolfgang still pushing the trolley and making funny faces at Priya, Kala reached forward, and took his hand in hers. And then, very gently, she pressed a kiss to his arm. Wolfgang held his breath, waiting for the earth to move, but nothing happened. Kala rested her chin on his shoulder.

“What shall we have for dinner?” she asked, and then she laughed.

Of course nothing had happened. Since the moment he met her - whether that was on Riley’s landing, in Lito’s kitchen, or the restaurant where she was having brunch with Nomi and Amanita - the centre of his world had, slowly but surely, been gravitating towards her. Until here they were, in the queue for the checkout at the supermarket, her baby clinging to one of his fingers and Kala’s chin on his shoulder.

“I don't mind,” he said, “whatever you want.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TO CELEBRATE NETFLIX COMING THRU AND GIVING US A TWO HOUR FINALE in which, pls god, we shall see nomi and amanita get married and kala and wolfgang being in luv in paris, here is another chapter of the single parent au!!!! i wrote this during a heat wave and also...thought of a detailed backstory for the (dead) mother of wolfgang's child so that's where i'm at with that. there's no bollywood references in this, can you believe?! how incredibly off brand of me. anyhoops, big love everyone, this is for hannah, AS ALWAYS XOXO

**WOLFGANG AND SOPHIE**

* * *

 

**"we are friends and my child’s first word was your name and im jealous but also kind of endeared"**

* * *

 

 

Sophie was the quietest baby he’d ever known. When Melanie was alive, she would laugh and say how ironic it was, that she, who could never stop talking and laughing and singing, had wound up with a serious, silent baby and a serious, silent boyfriend. And  _ after,  _ in those horrible weeks  _ after _ when everything seemed to ache, he thought of Sophie’s quietness as a comfort. It meant she understood, somehow, as much as a baby could understand, that all the noise in the world wouldn't bring her mother back. It was just them.

He wasn't scared of much, but he was scared of what was going to happen when she learnt to talk. One day, he knew, she’d ask him about Melanie, and it terrified him. 

Kala said he was being ridiculous.

“It doesn’t do anyone any good to keep things locked in their heart,” she said one evening, sat in Hernando and Lito’s back garden with a glass of wine, Sophie asleep in the pushchair, “not even you.”

“And what good does going over the past do?” he asked, and sipped his beer.

“It helps,” she said, and stood up, shining in the sunset, “you know it does.”

 

She walked back into the house, her hand skimming Sophie’s curls as she passed. Wolfgang shifted in his seat, tilted his head back into the evening sun. Kala was wrong, he thought. He’d told Melanie everything, and it hadn’t saved her. It hadn’t saved him from the ache of her absence. 

In her sleep, Sophie sighed. Her eyes flickered like she was dreaming, and for a second he thought she might wake up, but she turned her head and fell still again. With a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed until she was born, he stretched out a hand and stroked her ruddy cheek. Her eyes still closed, her chubby fists reached up and grabbed his finger, gripping it tightly. 

He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. That he was all she had, and he wasn't enough. But the words seemed to sit at the bottom of his throat, refusing to be said, and he couldn't do it. He eased his finger from her grasp and got up from his chair, crossed the garden to stand by Hernando’s beloved rose bushes, and lit a cigarette. 

Kala returned, carrying a bowl of salad and another bottle of wine tucked under her arm. She tutted when she saw him with a cigarette between his teeth. She placed the salad bowl on the wooden table, tried to open the bottle of wine. She struggled for a moment in silence, the cap not budging. He watched her, smoking without really tasting it - he couldn't taste anything, nowadays - and then she sighed. 

“Here,” he said, crossing the garden with a hand outstretched, “let me.”

“If you succeed it's only because I did the hard part at the start,” she said, but she handed the bottle over anyway. There was another moment of silence, the sun low in the sky. 

“You shouldn't smoke near Sophie, you know,” Kala said, barely above a whisper. 

He shrugged, and the cap came off the bottle. 

“I shouldn’t smoke at all,” he said.

He poured the wine into her glass and she watched him, eyes wide with what seemed suspiciously like sadness. She didn't feel sorry for him, he knew that, and he was grateful. He didn't know what to do with pity. But she felt sad for him. He preferred that. Sadness didn't seem as permanent, as patronising as pity. 

“Hernando’s bringing out the chicken,” she said, even though he already knew that, “although I expect he has gotten distracted by Lito again. I’d venture back into the kitchen but I'm more than a little afraid of what I might find.” 

Kala spoke to fill up the silences. But she spoke with great gentleness and with the implicit understanding that he didn't need to reply. That it was enough for him to be listening to her, that she would listen to him when he was ready.

 

He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, and Lito appeared in the doorway into the house. 

“Don't smoke without me,” he said, and Wolfgang laughed, a short, sharp laugh that he didn't recognise as his own. 

“It'll ruin the taste of the chicken for you,” Hernando, appearing behind Lito with plates full of food, tutted. 

“No, I already ate,” Wolfgang said.

“Now I know that's a lie,” Kala laughed, and sat in the seat closest to Sophie’s pushchair, “I was with you all afternoon and you just drank coffee.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She raised her eyebrows. With the hand that wasn't holding her glass of wine, she reached over and tenderly ruffled Sophie’s hair. Hernando, his own eyebrows raised, handed Wolfgang a plate of salad. 

“It’s good,” Hernando said warmly, “if I do say so myself.”

Wolfgang accepted it, and Lito smiled at him. His face seemed to light up, and Wolfgang felt a rush of affection for him. For all of them.

“What use is a hungry father to Sophie, hm?” Lito said, “And is there a better cook in this whole city than Hernando? I don't think so. Please, my friends, eat.”

Wolfgang glanced over at Kala, who was gazing at Sophie with so much affection it made his chest ache.

“Her hair,” Kala said quietly, “it's almost the same colour as Melanie’s but not-”

“It's lighter,” he said, “at the moment.”

“Remember how blonde she was when she was born?” Kala nodded, “and now it's - what was it Melanie said? Strawberry blonde?”

Wolfgang smiled, and said nothing. Sophie stirred in her sleep, and Kala withdrew the hand she’d been gently smoothing her curls with. There was silence again, the precious kind that comes when you are amongst friends.

“Are Riley and Will coming later?” Kala asked Lito, and he shook his head.

“Riley is making music tonight,” he said through a mouthful of chicken, “and I think - I think perhaps her heart is hurting greatly at the moment.”

Wolfgang nodded, understanding. It was difficult for Riley, who had once, before she knew any of them, come so close to having what Wolfgang had had for those few bright, sparkling months, to see him and to see Sophie, who reminded her so keenly of what she’d lost. He thought he would text her, perhaps, later, send her the link to an old Euro-pop song his mother had liked when he was a kid. It’d make her laugh.

“She is so strong,” Kala said solemnly, and Hernando and Lito murmured in agreement. 

“Daniela sends her love, Wolfgang,” Hernando said, and Wolfgang nodded shortly. He wasn't entirely sure what to do with  _ love.  _

“Is she enjoying Los Angeles?” Kala asked, and Lito began to describe Daniela’s feelings toward the city. Wolfgang’s concentration waned, and he found himself watching Sophie sleep. Freckles, brought out by the sun no doubt, had begun to appear on the bridge of her nose. Her eyelids flickered, and he wondered what she was dreaming about. She looked peaceful. 

He was dimly aware that Kala was trying to talk to him.

“Don't you think, Wolfgang?” she said.

He shrugged. “Think what?”  

“I was just saying, we should take Sophie to the beach. Perhaps when Sun comes to stay next month.”

He shrugged again. “Sun hates the beach.”

“But she loves Sophie,” Kala pointed out.

“Sophie might hate the beach too.”

Kala rolled her eyes, smiling good naturedly.  _ Typical Wolfgang _ , her smile seemed to say. 

“Perhaps we should start small then,” Hernando suggested, “maybe a trip to a lake?”

Lito nodded. “Yes, yes - the lake where Hernando and I stayed for our anniversary was  _ very  _ beautiful, I felt that we were in  _ Eden itself _ .”

“Or do you think Sophie will hate lakes too?” Kala asked. She was teasing him, he realised. It was a strange feeling - the lightness of the conversation, the certainty of the affection he felt for the company, and the unforgettable heaviness of his heart.

His gaze fell, as it always did and always would from now on, on Sophie.

Her eyes were wide open, watching them all with intense curiosity. He nudged Kala.

“Look,” he mumbled, “she's awake.” 

Kala gasped. “Oh no, should we have spoken more quietly? Will this ruin her sleep schedule?” 

“She doesn't have a sleep schedule,” Wolfgang laughed, “she sleeps when I sleep.” 

Kala sighed, too deeply for it to be truly sincere, and turned to Sophie. 

“Hello,” she cooed, leaning down to pick her up, “did you have a nice sleep? Did we wake you up?” 

Sophie buried her face in Kala’s hair. 

“She's so quiet,” Hernando remarked as Kala balanced Sophie on her hip, “I don't think I’ve ever heard her cry. When did she last eat?”

Wolfgang opened his mouth to point out that Hernando had never seen Sophie at three in the morning, which is why he’d never heard her cry, but Kala spoke before him.

“We went to the park for lunch, didn't we, Sophie? Are you hungry now? I expect you are.”

“There's - some breadsticks or something, in the pram,” Wolfgang mumbled, and Kala nodded, smiling. She was radiant, he thought. 

“And I shall cook some more chicken,” Hernando declared, getting to his feet, “unseasoned, I think, she is only small.”

As Hernando passed them, Wolfgang grabbed his arm. “Thank you,” he said, as earnestly as he could. Hernando smiled.

“You are family,” he replied, “this is what families do.” 

 

Kala passed Sophie to Wolfgang so that she could locate the breadsticks he’d shoved in the back pocket of the pram. Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed sweet sticky kisses to his cheeks. He laughed, in spite of himself. With wobbling legs, she pulled herself up so she was standing on his lap, pudgy hands gripping the front of his shirt. Both father and daughter’s eyes were on Kala, who had thus far discovered six cigarette lighters, half a packet of wet wipes, and a tin can of charcoal that had belonged to Sophie’s late mother in the back of the pram, but no breadsticks.

“Are you  _ sure _ you packed them?” Kala asked, crouched by the pushchair as not to get grass stains on her skirt. 

“I’m sure,” Wolfgang nodded, “They’re in a plastic bag.”

“Well that really narrows it down,” Kala grumbled, “why do you have  _ so many  _ lighters, Wolfgang?” 

“I lose them easily.”

She tutted, in the way she did that sounded like  _ I care about you,  _ and stood up straight. In the mid evening moonlight, she was drenched in blues and indigos. She looked like art, he thought, like someone had painted her with excessive tenderness.

Sophie raised a chubby hand towards Kala and said, with ease, like she wasn't shattering the world and rebuilding it entirely anew; “ _ Kala.” _

At first, Wolfgang thought he hadn't heard her properly. 

“What was that, Soph?”

“Kala!” she said again, and Kala made a noise that sounded like a sob. Lito was on his feet, salad tongs still in his hands. He pointed them at Sophie. 

“She - she -  _ she!”  _

It was so rare that Lito was lost for words that Wolfgang felt like taking a picture of his face, slack jawed and in awe of Sophie, who was merrily attempting to shove her fist in her father’s mouth.

“ _ Say it again, _ ” Lito said, hushed and reverent.

“Kala,” Sophie pulled her hand from Wolfgang’s face, and pointed clearly at Kala, who let out an unmistakeable sob, and rushed towards them. Lito, on the other hand, whooped, and threw his tongs up in the air.

“HERNANDO!” he cried, “HERNANDO COME QUICKLY! OUR GODDAUGHTER HAS SPOKEN! HERNANDO! SOPHIE HAS BLESSED US WITH SPEECH! HERNANDO!” 

Kala, who was pressing kisses to Sophie’s face, laughed. She looked up at Wolfgang, tears spilling onto her cheeks. And Wolfgang laughed too, because the look on Kala’s face was so full of joy and love. He could hardly believe it. 

Hernando ran to the back door, a leg of chicken in his hands. “What is it, my love? Are you hurt? Is it Sophie?”

“She spoke, Hernando!” Lito cried, “She has spoken her first word!”

“She did?! What was it?” 

“It was Kala,” Wolfgang said, as Kala pulled Sophie into her arms from his lap, “She said Kala.”

“ _ Oh, _ ” Hernando sighed, “how _ lovely _ ! You know, the development of language in children is so incredibly fascinating. An academic friend of mine gave several very interesting lectures on it last year - I will just finish cutting up this chicken for Sophie and then I will show you, I’m sure you'll find it useful.”

Wolfgang was only half listening - he was watching Kala kiss Sophie’s chubby cheeks again and again. 

The ache in his chest didn't feel as heavy, somehow. And the terrifying future that loomed ahead of them was a little closer now than it was ten minutes ago, and he didn’t mind. 

“Are you okay?” Kala asked him softly. He nodded because truthfully, he was. 

“Are you thinking about Melanie?” she said, moving closer to him, Sophie still wrapped in her arms. He nodded again, because he was. 

“I think she’d be very happy,” he said. Kala blushed. 

“If I’m being honest, I feel like I’ve stolen something from her, from you - Sophie’s first word, I-”

“You’ve stolen nothing from us,” he interrupted her seriously, “You’re - we’re - Sophie loves you.”

He wanted to tell how grateful he was, but the words seemed far too great for the midsummer evening, for the joy on Kala’s face and for Sophie’s sweet smile. She stretched out her arms towards her father, and he took her from Kala.

And then, like it was nothing at all, he reached out and took her hand. She looked at him, eyes still brimming with tears, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 

He thought she understood. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM TRULY SO FAKE there i was all "all i'm going to do this summer is write" and i left this fic UNTOUCHED till august! i'm not sure how i feel about this one, but i love the idea of kala with twins? once again, i have...barely followed the prompt lol! shout out to hilary for coming up with the name rahul! oh, and happy the sensates' birthday for yesterday everyone!!!!

**KALA, ASHA AND RAHUL**

**"you’ve been sleeping at mine because your house is being renovated and we aren’t even dating, yet every time you wake up to the baby crying and sigh, “i’ll go” i feel like we might as well be married"**

* * *

If you had asked Kala Dandekar at twenty where she foresaw herself at thirty, she probably would not have told you _changing my infant son’s nappy in the toilets of a Berlin nightclub whilst a DJ and a disgraced cop watch my daughter._ And yet here she was.

In her defence, the nightclub was technically closed. It was daytime. She was drinking water. Riley was trustworthy - a mother herself, Kala remembered - and Asha was, generally, a placid and well behaved baby who was easily entertained by singing. Rahul, on the other hand, wept bitterly when he was held by anyone that wasn't his mother. She felt this could cause quite a few problems in the future. It was causing problems now.

Nappy changed, and Rahul quiet - for the time being - in her arms, Kala hurried up the steps out of the bathroom and into the bar area, where Riley and Will sat with Asha. They were singing, much to her amusement, a half-mumbled version of Sonny and Cher’s _I Got You Babe._ Neither of them appeared to remember all the words, but that didn't stop Asha laughing along, clapping her pudgy fists together.

“What beautiful singing,” Kala said as she approached the table, “thank you so much, I’m sorry to be a nuisance.”

Will laughed. “Don't worry about it - what are friends for? Everything okay with the little guy?”

“Yes, yes, he's fine. Thank you for watching Asha, she's -”

“She's so sweet,” Riley said quietly, “Such a happy baby. It's wonderful.”

Riley and Will shared a look that made Kala feel like she was intruding. She busied herself with putting Rahul into the pushchair, intent on not staying in the nightclub a minute longer than necessary.

“It is nearly time for their nap, you know. Thank you so much for bringing me to this beautiful building, Riley, I’m sure you'll do wonderfully tonight, I -”

Riley bounced Asha up and down on her knee. Kala thought she had tears in her eyes.

“Oh no, stay a little longer,” Will said, “Wolfgang’s on his way.”

Kala laughed, and gestured to Riley to pass the baby to her. “Oh, Wolfgang doesn't want to see me,” she said, in a tone she hoped was breezy, “He doesn't like the babies. I’ll see him another time, when I can get a babysitter.”

Will and Riley shared another of their indecipherable looks, and Kala began the lengthy progress of getting Asha into the pushchair. Despite her placidity, Asha was incredibly curious - a trait Kala knew came from herself - and every trip in the pushchair was an adventure to her. Today, she was entranced by the mechanism that allowed the pushchair to close, the holes that ran along the handle. She shoved her fingers into them, and as a result Kala struggled to get her daughter’s arms into the straps.

“You'll hurt yourself, Asha,” Kala cooed.

In the seat underneath his sister, Rahul began to grumble.

“Sorry about - _this,_ ” Kala glanced up at Will and Riley.

“It's okay,” Riley said in that calm, melodic way of hers, “They're fine. You're fine.”

At that moment in time, Kala didn't feel particularly fine. This feeling only intensified when she stood up fully, having won the battle to get Asha’s arms in the straps, and saw Wolfgang stood there, smirking at her.

“We’re on our way out,” she said, a little lamely, but he didn't respond. He clasped Riley on the shoulder, beaming in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“It’s great,” he said to Riley, and she laughed, “I’ve never been here before.”

“Can you believe that, Kala, a club in Berlin that Wolfgang hasn't been to?”

Kala shook her head, _no, of course she couldn't believe it_.

“Are you coming tonight? Are you bringing Felix?” Riley looked up at Wolfgang with so much love in her eyes. That was how she looked at everyone, actually - Kala was often intensely jealous of it, that look. That ability to not overthink where you were sending love and just - send it.

“Tell Felix he has to come, Lito’s bringing Daniela,” Will laughed, “Hey, do you want a drink? Kala, do you want anything?”

Rahul began to whine. “No thank you,” Kala said, “we have to go.”

Wolfgang, she noticed, was not looking at her.

“Good luck tonight, Riley,” she said warmly, “you'll do wonderfully.”

There were murmured goodbyes, and a promise of a text message describing that night’s events the next morning, and Kala left the nightclub. She wondered how far she had to walk before Rahul would fall asleep.

* * *

If she was being completely honest, she thought Wolfgang was scared of her. He was not the only one of her friends - the strange, rag-tag group of people she’d surrounded herself with since she had moved to Berlin - that avoided her company when she was with the twins. Sun, for example, found descriptions of Asha and Rahul’s sleep cycle completely uninteresting, and preferred to talk with her about science, about politics and the state of the world. Lito loved to declare himself _Uncle Lito, the greatest and most fun,_ but the moment Asha’s bottom lip began to tremble, he was nowhere to be seen. Nomi had been convinced for the first three months of the twins’ life that the moment they were placed in her arms, she would drop them. But Wolfgang was different, somehow. Riley had told her that once, before Kala had moved to the city, Wolfgang had been seeing a girl who had a daughter. Everyone had expected him to run a thousand miles in the opposite direction, but he had surprised them all.

“They were as thick as thieves,” Riley had told her, “you wouldn’t have believed it. Wolfgang, in the park, this tiny, dark eyed child hanging off his arm. It was wonderful. I used to cry when I saw them together.”

The relationship had fizzled out after six months, and no one could tell whether Wolfgang was upset about it, because, as Riley pointed out, “he doesn't give away much.”

But what it proved, in Kala’s mind anyway, was that it wasn't children in _general_ he was scared of, but _her_ children _._ Once, at a dinner party at Nomi and Amanita’s, she had been making a bottle up in the kitchen for Rahul, who was grumbling and grizzling in the empty front room. She had been thinking, dimly, that she missed her mother, when she heard an uncharacteristically soft murmuring: _Wolfgang._ She had listened, breath held tightly in her chest, as he had soothed the unsoothable Rahul, and then, when she tentatively stuck her head around the door, she heard him clam up again, snap shut like a shell. So perhaps, it wasn't even her _children_ he was frightened of, but _her._

* * *

She thought of him casually - or at least, she thought it was casually - as the hours ticked by into evening, as she folded laundry, as she bathed the babies. She heard a song on the radio she knew he liked, she remembered him commenting how funny it was that the babies’ shampoo was scented. She wondered whether he really did take Felix with him to Riley’s gig, or whether he’d take the opportunity to go home with Daniela himself. She thought about Riley too, and she thought about her sister. She wondered, not for the first time, if going back and accepting her strange, awkward marriage would be easier than this, whatever this was. She missed her father’s cooking. As she sat on the low chair in the babies’ room, listening to their slow, steady breaths, she sent a short, summative text to Rajan, updating him on their children’s progress. She received no reply - understandable, she told herself, especially when one considers time zones.

She sat on her couch with a mug of tea, wrapped herself in a blanket and put the news on. She was asleep by half past nine.

* * *

At twenty past one in the morning she was woken, not by the babies, but by a persistent and rather desperate hammering on her front door. Rubbing sleep from her eyes with the heel of her hand, she hurried to answer it, blanket still draped over her shoulders like a cape.

It was Wolfgang, drenched in rain and out of breath.

“I didn't know where else to go,” he said. She stepped aside, and let him in.

* * *

Kala was her mother’s daughter, and so the first thing she did was put on some tea. Her brain still felt heavy with sleep, and so the first thing she asked him was a groggy _how was the concert?_

“Good,” came the curt reply, “Riley is always good.”

“She's a genius,” Kala smiled warmly. Wolfgang leant awkwardly against her fridge. She would not, she decided as she sipped her tea, ask him directly what was going on. It would be a waste, he wouldn't answer. He would tell her when he was ready.

“Come on,” she said, “I’ll put an old movie on.”

* * *

He sat beside her in silence whilst she mused over what to watch - on the lowest possible volume, of course, the babies were still sleeping.

“ _Sabrina_ ?” she asked with no expectation of a response, “I just love Audrey Hepburn, don't you? She's wonderful. Oh, this movie makes me so terribly sad, she's so desperate for him to love her. We’ll watch a different one - I think I recorded _Roman Holiday_ , although that one makes me cry too, but only the last five minutes -”

“If a movie makes you sad,” Wolfgang said slowly, “why watch it?”

Kala pressed play, and sat back in her seat.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “it's nice to be sad about things that aren't real.”

He nodded gravely. On the baby monitor, Rahul coughed.

“My apartment was broken into,” Wolfgang told her, not taking his eyes from the screen, “by my cousins, probably, or one of the others. It's trashed, I could barely get into it. There's shit everywhere. Everyone else is at the club, and you - I couldn't think of anywhere else I could go.”

He took a long sip of tea, as if to indicate he’d finished. Kala rested her head in her hand, her elbow on the arm of the couch.

“Why did you leave the club so early?” she asked, voice small and quiet.

He said nothing.

“Ah,” she nodded, “I see. A girl.”

He still didn't meet her eye.

“Where is she now? You should've brought her here,” she was teasing him, slightly, “Why didn't you go back to her’s?”

“She went home,” he said, very shortly, “I think she was frightened.”

Kala felt a wave of sympathy for the nameless woman Wolfgang had half-seduced.

“It wasn't Dani, was it?”

He snorted, which answered her question. She wanted, rather desperately, to tell him that he was going to be alright. She wanted to look him in the eyes and tell him none of it would matter in the morning. But that would be lying. She couldn't do that, to herself or to him. They were both so tired, she realised as they sat watching _Roman Holiday_ , and neither of them had any time for lies, no matter how sweet they were. Kala knew she could offer him no comfort, but she could offer him help.

“You can stay here as long as you like,” she said, and he nodded.

“Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence. Wolfgang settled back into the sofa. Kala drew her knees in, draped the blanket over both their legs.

“Why Berlin?” he asked suddenly, “When you decided to restart your life, why Berlin?”

She almost laughed. What a strange question to be asking the woman helping you remain a fugitive from your family of organised criminals.

“Well,” she said, taking a sip of tea, “when Rajan and I got married, we went to Italy on our honeymoon. Riley was there, working, and, of course she is so brilliant, I wanted to be her friend. So we stayed in contact. When I decided to leave, I thought - I don't know, I suppose I thought _I must be wherever Riley is_ , _she will know what to do._ And she was here. So, here I came.”

It was more and less complicated than that - she didn't want to go anywhere she had been with Rajan, she wanted to go somewhere the company had a branch, her sister had always wanted to visit Berlin but had never had a reason to go before now. She had a dream, the week before she left, that her children spoke German to her.

“Do you like it?” he asked. She nodded, although he wasn't looking at her.

“It’s very beautiful - and _cold_. It’s not where I imagined raising my children but I’m glad I’m here all the same.”

He said, very quietly, so quietly for months after she was convinced she’d dreamt it: “I’m glad you’re here too.”

They sat in comfortable, half asleep silence. Kala hadn’t been keeping track of the movie - had she missed her favourite scene, where the princess cuts all her hair off? As a child, that scene had simultaneously horrified and excited her - to cut off _all her hair_? On a whim? She couldn’t imagine it. She sank back into the cushions, her head resting against Wolfgang’s.

She wasn’t sure at what point they both fell asleep, but the movie had ended and the television had reverted back to the 24 hour news channel she had been watching earlier. The babies - both of them, because it was impossible for them to do anything apart - were crying. She fumbled with the blanket, which had somehow become tucked under her knees, but was interrupted by Wolfgang. He was already on his feet, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“I’ll go,” he said. She opened her mouth to say _don’t be ridiculous_ but he had already gone. Kala was, to put it mildly, a little stunned. She pushed her hair out of her face, and listened to the strange, mumbled reassurances of Wolfgang through the baby monitor. In order to keep herself awake, she read the headlines running along the bottom of the television screen. The world seemed unrelentingly grim, and very far away.

The cries of the babies grew closer and closer, but less intense as they did so. She had been right, about Wolfgang. He wasn’t scared of the babies at all. He approached the sofa, and Rahul stretched out his arms towards Kala.

“What’s up, hm?” she said, and Rahul nuzzled into her neck. Wolfgang sat beside them, Asha asleep on his chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered. He shrugged, as well as he could with a baby clinging to him.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she yawned, stifling it with the back of her hand, “it’s -”

She wanted to say _it’s everything_ but something - fear, perhaps, unconquered despite her crossing the world in an attempt to overcome it - stopped her.

“Thank you,” she said again, barely louder than a breath.

He said nothing, and fixed his eyes upon the rolling news.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, because if she didn’t say it now, with all this softness and silence lying between them, she never would, “Why is it you’ve always avoided me when I’ve got the babies? Before - before they were born, we were so -” How could she explain it, the strangeness of her feelings? She could see him, in her mind’s eye, when she was eight months pregnant, fixing her balcony door whilst she explained to him the plot of _Hum Aapke Hain Koun_ \- why had it gone, the moment the twins arrived? “I just wonder,” she whispered, “does it - does it frighten you?”

“Nothing frightens me,” he said, which she knew was not true because everyone was frightened of something, “but it - I admired you, so much, coming here, starting everything new. There have been so many times in my life I’d wished I could do that.” He sighed, and dragged a hand down his face. He looked younger, somehow.

“I have done such terrible things,” he whispered, “and Asha and Rahul, they haven’t done anything. So I can’t - I don’t want them, or you, to be hurt.”

She thought it was a bit ironic that he was telling her this whilst half asleep on her sofa because he was hiding from his murderously violent family. She shuffled, facing him.

“It is not up to you,” she told him, “You don’t frighten me.”

He met her gaze.

“You frighten me,” he said, and Kala shivered, “How I feel about you frightens me.”

Kala lay a steadying hand on Rahul’s back, and edged closer towards Wolfgang.

If you had asked Kala Dandekar at twenty where she foresaw herself at thirty, she probably would not have told you _holding my son to my chest as I kiss a thief who happens to be one of my dearest friends, as he holds my daughter in his arms_ . And yet, here she was.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure how i feel about the end of this one, and i really don't know whether they have playgroups like the one described in this in germany (i mean they must do, like, where there are babies there are playgroups right?) (i was in such a playgroup with the baby i've been looking after all summer and i was like hahaha this, but with wolfgang and then i was like WAIT.) also wolfgang is THE SADDEST MAN IN THE WORLD.   
> thank you for reading!!!

**WOLFGANG AND SOPHIE (AND KALA AND RAHUL)**

**"you crouched down to coo at my baby but i forgot to tell you their favorite thing to do is to play with people’s hair and now they won’t let go of you"**

There were things that a father - a single father, at that, someone who did all of it alone ( _ he hated Melanie for dying, and he hated himself for hating her _ ) - had to do that did not bother him. He changed nappies stoically, mechanically, like he was changing a lock. He sang, albeit badly, Sophie to sleep almost every night. He sang her terrible mid noughties dance tracks, but he sang to her all the same. She was a placid, uncomplicated baby, and although he did long for the day when she would dress herself, the day they would go for a kick about in the park, there was a part of Wolfgang that  _ enjoyed  _ looking after a baby. The only thing that he could not stand was  _ other people who had babies _ . Those clubs and classes where well meaning mothers and earnest fathers taught their children  _ yoga _ , or sang nursery rhymes and drank tea together and talked about controlled crying. When Melanie was pregnant, she had dragged him to some class about breastfeeding and he had  _ hated  _ it, had felt horribly aware of his own skin and the fact that Sophie - unborn and unnamed at the time - had been conceived in a nightclub toilet. The class, of course, turned out to be useless anyway. Melanie had never needed it. 

“Doesn't it scare you?” Will asked him one evening over a beer, Sophie asleep in his arms, “You're doing this  _ completely  _ alone.”

Wolfgang shrugged, and sipped his beer. “I've done most things in my life alone. And there are more frightening things in this world than a baby.”

Will looked down at Sophie, who had grabbed a handful of his shirt. He smiled with a warmth Wolfgang did not possess and was, at times, intensely jealous of. Would Sophie wish, he wondered, that her father was more like Will? More earnest and loving and wholly good? 

“But how do you know,” Will continued, “what's normal or what's weird or if you're doing okay?”

Wolfgang watched Will shift Sophie in his arms. He was right, of course. Wolfgang had no family with young children, no friends either. He knew Melanie’s sister in Hamburg had just had a baby but she hated him, so that was useless. He thought about his mother, and missed her. The dull pain in his chest he got when he thought about his mother had sharpened considerably since Sophie had been born. 

“I ask myself two things,” he said finally, “firstly, is she alive? Secondly, is she crying? And if the answer to the first question is yes and the answer to the second question is no, then...it is alright.”

Will nodded, a sincere look of care and concern on his face. 

“Don’t you worry she'll get lonely?”

Wolfgang scoffed. “She has me.”

“Look, man, I’m not trying to tell you how to raise her, I know you know what you're doing. But Riley’s got this friend - well she's kind of a friend of a friend really - and she runs this group, y’know, all the kids play and the parents drink coffee. Riley helps out sometimes. It's nice. She’d like it.”

Wolfgang leant across the table and picked up Will’s bottle. It had perhaps a sip or two of beer left in it, but he had become overwhelmed by the desire to be alone, or rather as alone as one can be when they have a baby. He picked up his own empty bottle with the same hand, and moved towards the bin. 

“Sophie is a baby,” he said, very shortly, “she doesn't play. She shits, she sleeps and she eats. That's all.”

* * *

 

Felix was less concerned about  _ Sophie’s _ ability to socialise than he was about Wolfgang’s. 

“There are probably some really hot mums at these things,” he said when Wolfgang told him about his conversation with Will, “you're depriving yourself - and me!”

Wolfgang laughed despite himself, and grabbed a key Sophie was about to shove into her mouth. A locksmiths was a dangerous place for a baby, but he could not afford to stop working, he did not trust anyone else with Sophie and he had not touched a safe that didn't belong to him since she was born. 

“They're all married,” he said, and Felix cackled.

“You think that means something? They’ve just had a kid, their husband doesn't find them attractive anymore, you know what I'm talking about.”

Wolfgang said nothing, and tried to distract Sophie from the keys with a raggedy stuffed cow Melanie had made for her. It had felt ears, and a nose that beeped. Sophie, sat on the worktop, was far more interested in a ring of keys Felix was taking apart. 

“I mean come on, Wolfie,” Felix said, “you haven't even,” he gestured, and Wolfgang rolled his eyes, “a girl since...y’know.”

This was untrue - there had been an old school friend of Melanie’s at the funeral, one of the midwives who checked in on Sophie, a girl who lived on the top floor of his block who locked herself out and asked him for help because she thought the fact he had a baby made him trustworthy. He hadn't mentioned any of them to Felix - he didn't see the point. 

“You should go to this thing for me,” Felix said, “and who knows, maybe you'll find Sophie a mother!”

Wolfgang wanted to say that Sophie  _ had a mother _ , but the words died in his throat. It was becoming clearer and clearer to him: he was all she had, and he was not enough.

* * *

 

On a Thursday, long enough after the conversation with Will that Wolfgang had forgotten about it, Riley text him that they should get coffee that afternoon, and that he absolutely had to bring Sophie with him. That made him laugh, because he took Sophie everywhere. There was no other option.  _ Meet me at Saint Elizabeth’s _ , Riley wrote, which should've been the first clue they were not, really, getting coffee. What cafe was called Saint Elizabeth’s? But Wolfgang had forgotten about the friend of a friend, and so when he saw Riley smoking outside a church, his first assumption was that she wanted to get him to pray. Which was ridiculous, because neither of them believed in God. 

Life had been cruel to the both of them, and they found little comfort in the idea of an Almighty, but a great comfort in each other.

“Funny looking cafe,” Wolfgang said. Riley looked up from her phone, pulled her headphones off and beamed. 

“I didn't think you'd come otherwise,” she said, and grabbed his arm - warmly, but Wolfgang thought she mostly did it so he couldn't escape. 

“Don't worry, you'll get your coffee,” she promised him, “there's someone I want you to meet.”

“Who? Don't say Jesus.”

The church was small, a bare noticeboard in the porch. He heard what they were there for before he saw it; the cries and laughs of a dozen or so babies, the low chattering of parents. He repressed a shudder, and thought about all those concerned mothers asking about where Sophie’s mother was, asking about sleep schedules and bowel movements. Riley squeezed his arm, and pushed the door open. There were no pews in the building, which somehow surprised him, but there were chairs stacked at the front, so the babies couldn't get the altar. A woman - a beautiful Indian woman with curly hair and a wide smile - sat at a table slightly to the left of the door. There was a stack of papers and a mug of money in front of her, and a rather serious looking toddler was sat next to her. Wolfgang thought that he might be her son - they had the same eyes. 

“Riley!” the beautiful woman cried when they entered, Wolfgang pulling Sophie’s pram in behind him. Riley let go of his arm - she obviously trusted he would not immediately walk out again, and ran to hug her. 

“Wolfgang,” Riley beckoned him over, and he gently pushed Sophie’s pram closer to them, “this is my friend Kala, we met at a concert, she's helping run this.”

Behind Wolfgang, a toddler began to scream as another child snatched a large plastic train from him. He would stay for the duration, he decided, for a coffee and to speak to Kala who was impossibly beautiful and had an air of stillness he wanted to be near. But he would not get Sophie out of the pram and he would not return. 

“You run a church?”

Kala laughed - it was a sweet sound. “No, no I’m actually Hindu, but when I moved here, Rahul was very small and I came to this and - I always think you should put back into something what you take out, you know? Angelica - she works for the church - has been so helpful to me, and so now I’m helping her.” 

The somber toddler - the aforementioned Rahul, he assumed - slid off his chair and wordlessly approached a pile of Duplo bricks no one was playing with. Kala watched him, her face almost glowing with tenderness. Wolfgang wondered whether his face resembled her’s when he looked at Sophie. He didn't expect so. Riley put a coin in the mug.

“Do you want a coffee, Kala?” she asked, and Kala shook her head. 

“No, but if you look in the cupboard next to the sink there are some biscuits that will be  _ very  _ well received out here.”

Riley slipped off. Wolfgang recalled vividly that he had once watched her disappear into the crowd in nightclubs. How quickly his life had changed. 

Kala stood up from her table, and tucked her hair behind her ears. 

“So this is Sophie?” she said, “Riley’s told me so much about you.” 

Wolfgang cleared his throat. Kala glanced up at him, and something about the look in her eyes made his mouth go dry. 

“She's beautiful,” Kala said softly, crouching down before Sophie in the pram, “Hello, Sophie.”

It occurred to Wolfgang that Sophie’s habit of grabbing what was in front of her in her chubby fist - be it keys or someone’s nose - could well be about to make an appearance, but he figured Kala, running an event such as this, was probably used to it. 

“Have you always done things like this?” he asked her. She laughed, and he felt it in his gut. 

“No, no, before Rahul was born I avoided anything involving babies,” she smoothed Sophie’s curls down, “because - it’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he said quietly. She looked up at him again. 

It was at this moment, of course, that Sophie decided she must see what Kala’s hair felt like - soft, Wolfgang imagined, given the way it shone in the light. Sophie grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged, and judging by the way Kala yelped, she tugged hard. Wolfgang dived down to stop Kala from toppling over, grabbing her elbow to steady her. 

“Sophie,” he chided her, but she giggled merrily, Kala’s curls still in her fist, “let go!”

“It’s alright,” Kala soothed, trying to ease her hair out of Sophie’s grasp, “It’s not the worst thing that’s happened.”

One thing that consistently surprised him was how strong Sophie was - sometimes he dreamt about teaching her to box when she was a little older, watching her throw a punch at someone who had wronged her. As Kala pulled her hair free (minus three strands which Sophie stubbornly clung to) Wolfgang imagined her there too, trying to coax her into the ring and then laughing as she covered her eyes when Sophie punched him a little too hard. 

He laughed now, pulling the strands of hair no longer attached to Kala’s head from his baby’s fist. The two adults stood, a little awkwardly. The space in his hand where he had touched her arm seemed to burn. 

“I’ve been, you know, peed on by babies that are not my own,” Kala said, and it took Wolfgang a moment to work out what she was talking about. She smiled at him. 

“Please, take a seat - we have a lot of toys for under ones, Angelica is always buying things.”

The promise he had made himself that he would not even take Sophie out of the pram was useless in the face of Kala’s warm smile and the promise of biscuits. He would keep the baby close to him, he decided, so that if need be he could make a quick exit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a group of three mothers, whispering conspiratorially and staring in his direction. 

“Riley told me,” Kala said slowly, as she unclipped Sophie from the pram, “about your wife. I’m very sorry.”

He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say to that. “We weren’t married.”

“Oh,” she handed Sophie to him, “I can’t imagine that made it any easier, though.”

She was right - it hadn’t. But he didn’t want to talk about Melanie, he was sick of talking about Melanie. 

“But what about you?” 

She laughed, and sat back down behind the table. There was an empty chair beside her, and without thinking too much about it, he sat in it.

“When I became pregnant, I was - well, I wanted to do it the way  _ I _ wanted to do it. I wanted to live my life on my own terms.”

Wolfgang thought of his uncle and aunt, how desperately he wanted to keep Sophie away from them. He understood. 

“So,” she shrugged, “I left my husband. And I came here.”

Her gaze fell on Rahul, still methodically building towers out of Duplo. “It’s not been easy, but then nothing that is good ever is. And it feels very selfish of me, I must admit, to choose this path and then complain about it when you have had no choice in the matter, but-”

“I think it’s brave,” Wolfgang said quietly, “I think you’re brave.”

She glanced at him. “Thank you. I think you’re brave too.”

He bounced Sophie on his knee, and she gurgled merrily. Riley approached them, clutching two coffee mugs and with a tin of biscuits tucked under her arm. She smiled when she saw they were sat together. 

“Black, no sugar,” she handed the mug to Wolfgang, “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Wolfgang detected a laugh in her voice, and he could imagine her on the phone to Will later, giggling and talking at twice the speed she normally did, telling him her plan - because she had to have planned this - had worked, and she saw him  _ smiling _ ,  _ for the first time in forever _ . 

“It’s nice,” he said, and Riley dropped into the chair next to him. Sophie made a beeline for her, grabbing at the tassels of her cardigan. 

“Oh really?” Riley leant across to take a biscuit from the tin, “Wolfgang never says things are nice, Kala. You've been given a high compliment indeed.”

He could’ve sworn he saw Kala blush. Riley handed Wolfgang a custard cream, which he immediately broke in two, giving half to Sophie. She was probably too little for biscuits, but they hadn't killed her yet, so he figured it had to be alright. 

The strangest feeling began to settle on his chest, where his grief once lay. He glanced around, at Kala and Rahul and the tower of Duplo blocks, at Riley laughing with Sophie. It was fragile and precious and the probability that he would ruin it was far greater than the probability that it would be alright but -  _ but _ , it was there. The possibility.

 


End file.
